


Which must remain unaltered

by Petra



Series: How to Marry a Millionaire [7]
Category: DCU - Comicsverse
Genre: Costumes, Identity Porn, M/M, Mentor/Student
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-05
Updated: 2006-03-05
Packaged: 2017-10-11 17:38:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/114930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Petra/pseuds/Petra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dick doesn't actually look six years younger in the mirror when he's fully dressed, but it feels as though he should.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Which must remain unaltered

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to everyone who listened and Betty for a most astute beta reading.

Putting together the appropriate costume without asking Alfred for assistance is a matter of remembering when his growth spurts hit and when he'd gained inconvenient amounts of weight because of them. He hasn't put on a lot of muscle mass in the last few years -- not more than he did when he was seventeen and a half, and there's a vest from then, so that's all right. Borrowing the different pieces, including the cape -- god, it's so bright -- feels like stealing even when Dick knows that they're his as much as anything has ever been.

It's strange to hide them in a backpack and sneak upstairs with them, hoping he won't see Alfred, hoping Bruce is at least as embarrassed by this process as he is and knowing that it doesn't work that way at all.

Bruce is halfway dressed when he gets to the bedroom and says, "I'll be out in a few minutes," as he ducks into the bathroom.

The hardest part is shaving his legs, and it's not that he's forgotten how. It's just a finicky process, up the backs of the calves and thighs, around the kneecaps, washing the razor after every stroke and trying not to think about what the stubble will be like in a few days.

When he's done with that, he rinses off the extra shaving cream and the stray bits of fuzz in the shower and washes his hair. Getting it to lie right is the work of a few moments -- he doesn't exactly have bangs anymore, and he doesn't have anything to make them stay, but the effort's clear.

The tunic fits, the gauntlets fit, the belt buckles, and the cape -- the cape is sunshine yellow. He doesn't actually look six years younger in the mirror when he's fully dressed, but it feels as though he should. It's a relief when his face still feels the same under the once-familiar mask. It means the costume isn't really changing him -- not that he expected it to, not really -- and he can pull the boots on and step out of the bathroom.

Smiling, because if he doesn't smile he's not Robin.

Bruce -- Batman is standing by the window, looking out. He turns when the door opens and catches his breath softly. "Robin."

"Hey," Dick says a little weakly, but he manages not to lose the smile. "How's it going?"

Batman strides across the floor toward him, his cape rippling, and stops himself, remembering in time that if they're playing this right, they need to talk first. "Everything's under control."

"Aww. Does that mean we don't get to patrol?" Did they ever have that luxury? Is it a sensible question?

Batman is staring at him, still, and it doesn't seem to matter. "We can stay in tonight, yes."

"I don't want to." He doesn't have any grapple guns obsolete enough to really fit, but he borrowed one anyway so he could fidget with it. That, at least, he remembers clearly. "I'd rather be out there flying than stuck at home."

"I know," Batman says, and his voice sounds rough. "There will be other nights for that."

Dick lets himself frown. "What else are we going to do, then?"

And this is where Batman puts a hand in its cool, nearly impervious gauntlet under his chin and tips his head up just a little, enough that when they kiss it knocks the breath out of Dick entirely. If he hadn't been shivering before, he'd be trembling now, stretching up for the kiss that part of him has waited for even though they have been doing this for months now.

"Robin," Batman says hoarsely. "Are you --"

"Don't stop," Dick says. "Don't ever, ever stop." He wraps his leg around Batman's waist and wonders if they should've talked more, if there was anything they should have, could have said, but the kisses are too sweet to wait.

Five, ten, twenty kisses later he's gasping for breath and Batman carries him to the bed, unfastening his uniform. The utility belt goes flying, his cape is over the nightstand, and his boots are somewhere far away and utterly unimportant. Batman's mouth is on his neck and he can't help but be Robin and let himself stop worrying about how it sounds when he whimpers. All that matters is that it makes Batman shiver, and that's what he wants most right now.

Somewhere in the middle of things Batman finds the time to pull off his gauntlets and to take Robin's off, too. His hands are warm and much softer than the armor. Much more human, but no weaker. "I can't believe you're still dressed," Robin says, and there's a laugh and a gasp in his voice. "You must be so hot and -- ow, I need --" He lifts his hips and it's all the invitation Batman needs to pull the shorts off and lose them somewhere in the chaos on the floor.

"You're beautiful," Batman says, running his hands up Robin's thighs -- they're too smooth to be Dick's, now, to be anyone's but Robin's. "So beautiful."

Robin shakes his head and feels himself blush. "I'm really not. I'm just me."

Batman kisses him and pins his wrists to the pillow for a long moment. When he breaks the kiss, Robin is breathless, but Batman's voice is even. "I've never known anyone as strong and handsome as you."

Robin turns his head, trying to hide his blush. "You don't have to say that."

"It's true." Batman nibbles his ear and breathes on it, sending shivers down his spine. "It's always been true."

"You're driving me crazy," Robin protests, twisting his wrists free.

He fumbles with the closures on the Batsuit because they're not all in familiar places, either from the times he'd had to help Bruce undress due to injuries or the times he'd worn it himself. Batman kisses him again and it doesn't help his focus at all. "It's all right, Robin," he says. "We have all night."

Robin shivers and tugs at his leggings impatiently. "Then we should start now." He sits up enough to kiss Batman again and sighs against his mouth. "Just all night isn't enough."

Batman makes a soft, not unsympathetic noise and moves away sideways enough to drop his boots, leggings, and jock on the floor. "True."

"I -- oh, god --" Robin says, interrupting himself not entirely on purpose when Batman moves down the bed and strokes his thighs with strong, capable hands. "Don't tease me, please don't tease me."

"Another night, then," Batman says, kissing his thigh hard enough that it doesn't tickle. Batman sits up again. His eyes are blanked out by the lenses; more than half his face is hidden by the cowl; Robin has never seen him look so tender and amazed. He runs his hand up Robin's thigh again, lingering, then bends to lick him -- teasing even when he said he wouldn't, but sweetly, carefully, and then it's not a tease and it makes his hips jerk.

Robin covers his mouth and tries to stop himself from wailing. He can't, not really, and it makes him sound more desperate and strangled than he would otherwise. It's simpler, more natural, to moan without fighting it. "God, Batman, that's amazing. Oh --"

Batman makes a soft, no, smothered noise and pets his thigh again. His calluses are rough on Robin's bare thigh and it's so strange to feel them there. When he pauses to lick his palm and wrap it around Robin's dick, it's a relief and another goad. Robin braces his feet against the bed and pushes up into his mouth, trusting that it won't be too much. He can always, always trust Batman, even when he's so lost he's begging, "Please, please, you feel so good."

Batman puts a hand on his hip and pulls him in, faster, until Robin fists his hands in the sheets and holds on for balance -- meaningless, useless balance because he's losing his breath and there's nothing he needs to control. "Oh, god, your mouth, I can't --" He wants to let it last forever, but there aren't any brakes. It's freefall and flying and he's arching off the bed, balancing on his toes and shoulderblades and he hears himself shout when he comes, every inch of his body alive and singing with pleasure.

"Robin," Batman says softly when he collapses back onto the bed. "You're --" He kisses Robin's thigh again, and now it really does tickle. Robin moves his leg away and Batman looks up at him. "What's wrong?"

"I can't feel my feet." Robin reaches for him and Batman kneels over him, then hugs him tightly. It's strange to be pressed against someone's armor like this and not hurt, not needing anything at all. "That was great. I --" Robin bites his lip. "D'you want me to do that for you, too?"

Batman hesitates a moment before he smiles and kisses him, lightly, then more deeply. It's strange how dirty he tastes, and how exciting it is when Robin still can't move his toes. "Not now, no."

"No?" Robin kisses him again and rocks up against him. It makes Batman shiver and pull him closer, groaning softly against his mouth. "You sure you don't want me to suck you off?"

"Robin --"

He ignores the warning tone and twists his hips a little. "You can come in my mouth. I've never --"

Batman growls and uses his weight to pin Robin down. This kiss is wetter, messier, and feels even more like sex. "I said not now."

Robin laughs and wriggles as best he can. "Okay, Batman. Okay." He's not entirely expecting it when Batman sits up, but when he comes back with a bottle of lubricant, it makes sense. "Oh," Robin says, and he grins, too. "Or we can do that."

"It was more what I had in mind," Batman says, and he lets Robin up a little while he slicks his fingers.

Robin laughs and spreads his legs, lounging a little. "You always have the best plans."

"Glad you approve."

He lifts his hips up a little. "God, yeah. I --" He catches Batman's dry hand and kisses his fingertips. "You're going to feel so good."

Batman hesitates and Robin counts it as a point, then a point the other way when Batman presses a finger into him and makes him close his eyes. "Oh -- oh god, that's --"

"What?" Batman asks. His voice is low and hoarse. "Tell me."

Robin shivers and takes off his mask. It makes him feel a little more naked and a little easier to understand, and Batman is staring at him. "I can't wait. I've been waiting -- god, as long as you have -- and dammit, you know I'd do anything for you." The next push of Batman's fingers is harder and makes Robin's eyes roll back in his head. "Just like that, please -- yes, god, yes, make me feel it."

Batman kisses him, biting at his lips. "How could you do anything else?"

He doesn't have enough breath to laugh, but he does it anyway. "You know -- god, yes -- what I mean -- you know me so fucking well --" and he's losing it, now, whimpering and spreading his legs wider. "You want me."

Batman's voice is tight. "How could I not?"

Robin shudders. "How much?" It's a dare, and that's why he's here, that's why he's wearing what he's wearing and shuddering as hard as he is. "How much do you want me?"

There's an edge in Batman's tone. "Robin."

Robin looks up and grins at him. "Show me."

Batman's mouth tightens into a thin line and he moves up the bed, kneeling between his legs and reaching up to pin Robin's wrists and kiss him. "Do you push everyone this much?"

Robin rolls his hips. "Only as much as they push me. Come on, Batman, what are you waiting for?"

Batman mouths his neck, sucking a mark there that was bright yesterday and will be brighter tomorrow, clear and defined as the R on his chest. It means the same thing -- that he belongs here with his thighs around Batman's waist, his head thrown back on the pillow, being fucked and held down with strength he can't match and doesn't want to fight.

"You're perfect," Batman says against his neck.

Robin laughs and gasps and laughs again. "I try. I -- god, you feel perfect. Wonderful. Don't stop, don't ever stop."

Batman nips at his neck -- another bruise, another mark, another piece of him that's Batman's. There's going to be nothing left of him that's Robin by the time they're done, and the thought makes him wail. "So beautiful," Batman says, stroking him. Making him react and owning him a little more with every thrust.

"Don't say that," Robin says, biting his lip to stop the moans from being too loud, too embarrassing.

Batman pushes two of his fingers into Robin's mouth and sighs -- how can he be so quiet? -- when Robin sucks on them. "Beautiful," he says again, "perfect. God, Robin."

He wants to protest, not to stop this but to stop Batman from saying what he's saying, but he doesn't want it badly enough to stop nibbling his fingers. There's no way to be reproachful like this. He wants everything too much right now to try and slow things down, and Batman is groaning now, too.

It should count as a point, but Robin knows he's made a hundred noises louder than that in the last five minutes. It doesn't count until Batman squeezes him faster and speeds up. Robin forces his eyes open to really see it, but it's hard, so hard when all he wants to do is feel. He licks the tips of Batman's fingers in rhythm to his thrusts and makes him moan -- another point -- and say, "Robin."

He makes a sound that's supposed to be a question and ends up as a wail, meaningless, hungry. But Batman understands him anyway, or guesses, and he buries his face in Robin's neck. "I've never wanted anyone --" another thrust, and they groan together -- "the way I want you."

Part of Dick's mind wants to talk about that, now, right now, but his body knows it's another mark, another piece of what makes him Robin, and he lets it go. He lets everything go except the feeling of Batman inside him, taking him and filling him until it's too much. "Please," he says, around Batman's fingers, incoherent and incomplete.

"Yes," Batman says against his ear. "Yes. Come for me --" and if he hadn't added "Robin," it wouldn't have been perfect, but everything, everything is perfect between them, from the way he sighs -- so controlled, so impossibly controlled -- in Robin's ear -- to the way Robin has to cry out, too loud, just loud enough, and come all over his hand and stomach and armor.

"God," Robin says when he's started to catch his breath again. "That was --" He hugs Batman tightly. "That was what I wanted."

Batman kisses him gently. "Yes. That was -- right."

"Yeah. It really was. And I --" Dick shifts a little. "I should get out of this tunic before it ends up welded to me."

Bruce pushes his cowl back and smiles at him, rueful and affectionate and completely irresistible. "Are you so sure it's not?"

"Hey, this wasn't my idea," Dick says, and rolls them over so he can get up.

After another kiss. And maybe another after that -- and another one for good measure. "You hardly minded," Bruce says.

"We could maybe do it again sometime," Dick says, sitting up. "But I'd really need a uniform that fits."

"Without the armor." Bruce runs his fingers over his sticky tunic and the blocky R emblazoned on his chest.

"Yes." Dick catches his hand and kisses his fingers. "Exactly."

"About four days, then." Bruce says.

Dick raises an eyebrow. "Then we'll talk about it then."

"Just talk?"

Dick grins. "Get out the one in your size, too, and we'll do more than talk."


End file.
